Chapter Text
Arthur is working hard to earn his title of “Prince Prat To Rule All Prats.”
He has Merlin standing (hiding, cowering) behind a heavy shield as Arthur hits it with a sword over and over and over again. It could be seen as an improvement over where Merlin was just a few days ago, being chased around the market by a bloodthirsty man with a mace, but only just .
A particularly vicious strike has pain radiating from Merlin’s shoulder and taking over his torso. He opens his mouth on a silent scream, but he knows better than to make any sound. Instead, he pokes his face over the shield and quips dryly “What did the shield ever do to you?”
“Good point.” Arthur responds cheerfully. “The shield hasn’t done anything.” The next swing of the Prince’s sword is suspiciously high, like he’s aiming for Merlin’s head.
Merlin jumps back to avoid the blade. “We really need to work on finding healthier outlets for all that pent up anger.” He says with an exaggerated frown.
Arthur raises his sword for what’s shaping up to be a brutal blow and Merlin ducks back behind the shield, bracing for impact.
But it never comes.
Instead, Merlin hears the distinct noise of two swords meeting.
“I believe you owe me a re-match, your highness.” Says a bright new voice.
“Sir Leon.” Arthur laughs. “Let us hope the warm southern borders haven't made you soft.”
“Never, sire.” New guy – Sir Leon – replies with a smile on his voice.
When the sound of swords colliding restarts, Merlin figures it’s safe for him to put the shield down. He finally gets a good look at the new knight, although, with technique like that, Merlin doubts Sir Leon is new to knighthood .
Still, Merlin’s never seen this man before. He’d remember shiny flowing curls like that, he’s sure. If Merlin had met Sir Leon before, he’d never have forgotten that soft looking beard and those thick strong arms.
He might be staring a little bit.
Sir Leon must only be in Camelot for the tournament, yet Prince Arthur, unlike his manservant, is obviously well acquainted with him. They move with practiced ease, like they’ve been sparring against each other their whole lives. Each blow is perfectly matched: Sir Leon advances as Prince Arthur retreats, only for the tide to change and suddenly Sir Leon is the one backing away. And then the whole thing starts over again.
It’s mesmerizing, although Merlin can’t be sure if that’s because of the dance Arthur and Sir Leon are engaged in or if it’s because of the way it makes Sir Leon’s hair flutter around in perfect contrast with the stony concentration on his face. Either way, it’s only because Merlin is watching so closely that he notices when Arthur missteps. It’s the tiniest of mistakes, but enough for a skilled opponent like Sir Leon to… hesitate.
Arthur uses this to his advantage, apparently not noticing anything amiss. He disarms Sir Leon and, in an instant, the knight is flat on his back, the point of a sword resting against his chest.
“Getting slow in your old age, Leon.” Arthur teases sheathing his sword and offering an arm to the other man.
“Saving my energy for tomorrow, sire.” Sir Leon lets himself be pulled up. “Wouldn’t want to show you all my moves ahead of time.”
The Prince only laughs. “You keep telling yourself that.” He pats Sir Leon on the shoulder before turning and walking away.
Certainly, Arthur expects Merlin to follow him back to the castle, but Merlin can’t tear his eyes away from Sir Leon as the knight leans down to pick up his sword and secure it on his belt.
What did I just witness? He can’t help but wonder. Why would Sir Leon hesitate?
Merlin’s startled out of his reverie when he’s caught staring, but Sir Leon only seems surprised for a moment before his lips curl into a soft smile. Then the knight winks and Merlin’s stomach is overtaken by so many butterflies he’s surprised none of them fly away into reality.
“Uh–” Merlin says intelligently, taking note of how Sir Leon’s smile widens. He plans to follow it up with something smooth like ‘Thank you’ or ‘You didn’t have to do that’ or even ‘You really are very beautiful,’ which maybe wouldn’t quite so smooth but—
“ Merlin !” Arthur bellows from somewhere, the prat.
“I have to go.” Merlin blurts out before rushing away without registering Sir Leon’s reaction.
Merlin doesn’t think about it again.
Thoughts of Sir Leon’s silky curls don’t cross his mind once all day. And he doesn’t stare out into nothingness as he pictures Sir Leon gracefully wielding his sword. The way Sir Leon’s eyes crinkled when he smiled at Merlin is completely forgotten, as is their mysterious shine when the knight winked.
In fact, Merlin’s very much not wondering how soft Sir Leon’s beard would be to his touch as he wanders down the castle corridors after delivering the Lady Morgana’s nightly potion. It’s absolutely not his fault when he collides against a solid wall of muscle.
“Sorry!” Merlin exclaims when he notices the red cape. It’s just his luck that he would piss off a knight just as he was done with his duties for the night.
Trying to minimize the damage, Merlin steps back and promptly loses his footing. He’s only kept standing by the gentle hands that reach for his biceps.
“Are you alright?” Says a familiar voice.
Merlin’s head snaps up to look at the face of the man he nearly ran over. “Hey” is all he can think of to say.
“Hi.” Sir Leon smiles, slowly letting go of Merlin’s arms so that he’ll stay balanced on his own two feet. “Merlin, right?”
Merlin blinks, surprised that the knight would remember his name when they hadn’t even been introduced. Although he supposes Arthur’s yelling might leave an impression all on its own. “Yup.” Merlin feels a goofy grin splitting over his face. “That’s me.”
“I’m Leon.” The knight offers his hand.
Warmth spreads across Merlin’s chest. He’s only been in court for a week, but even he knows that this is not how this interaction is supposed to go. “It’s nice to meet you, Leon.” He shakes the man’s hand with maybe a little too much enthusiasm.
“And you.” Sir Leon’s smile grows brighter. “Are you alright, Merlin?” He asks once the handshake ends.
“Me?” Merlin squeals. “I’m fine! Great, even.”
“Are you sure?” Leon cocks his head, studying Merlin’s face. “That looked… painful. This morning.”
“Oh, that?” Merlin huffs dismissively. “That’s… I’m used to it. It’s fine.”
Leon looks concerned. “Does the Prince do that often?”
Merlin shrugs, trying to look unpreoccupied. “It's good warm up before training.”
Sir Leon sighs. “It’s really not.” There’s a long pause in which he seems to evaluate his options before speaking again. “Listen, Merlin, I’ve got this salve I usually use after training. For bruises and such. Would that be helpful to you at all?”
“You really don’t have to worry about me.” Merlin insists, even though the offer sounds positively lovely. “I’m sure you have more important things to—”
“It would set my mind at ease to know your injuries are tended to.” Sir Leon says far too sincerely.
By all rights, Merlin really should say no. His guardian is the court physician, for crying out loud, his injuries are always tended to. But Leon’s smile is so sweet and… “Okay.”
Leon’s face lights up. “Follow me.” He turns around and marches away, the red cloak floating behind him.
Merlin allows himself a moment to admire it before following Sir Leon down the corridors and into one of the guest chambers on the West Wing.
After closing the door behind them, Leon gestures towards the chair by the fire. “Make yourself comfortable.” He says. “I’ll only be a moment.”
The chair is remarkably comfortable and the room is deliciously warm and Merlin hadn’t realised how tired he was until he sat down, the exhaustion of the day catching up to him all at once. It’s like he suddenly remembers he’s in pain. All day, he’s ignored the soreness in his shoulder, but it only seems to have gotten worse with the hard labour of scrubbing the floors and polishing Arthur’s armour. He may or may not let out a groan as he melts onto the cushions.
“Merlin.” The gentle voice has Merlin opening his eyes, but everything is still blurry. He vaguely makes out the figure of Sir Leon standing in front of him with a pot of salve in his hand. “Are you okay?”
“This is a very comfy chair” Merlin’s words come out slightly slurred with fatigue.
Leon chuckles. “Yes, it is.” He pulls the foot rest closer and sits down on it.
“I could fall asleep here.” Merlin says thoughtlessly. “This is better than my bed.”
Sir Leon leans forward, a gentle hand resting on Merlin’s knee. “You can sleep in a moment, just let me apply the salve first?”
When Merlin finally manages to focus his gaze on Leon’s face, he’s met with the most lovely smile he’s ever seen. “You really are very beautiful.” He says. Out loud.
“Thank you, Merlin.” Leon tries, unsuccessfully, to stifle his laugh. “Do you think you could…?” He points awkwardly at Merlin’s shoulder, but it’s not hard to guess what he means.
It takes a while for Merlin to remove his jacket, then his neckerchief and lastly his shirt. By the time they’re all gone the smile in Leon’s face has been replaced by a look of pure horror.
Merlin follows Sir Leon’s gaze down at his shoulder, he’d almost forgotten about the mess of green and purple bruises waiting for him there. “It’s not as bad as it looks.” He tries.
“It looks like you got beat everyday this week.” Leon says candidly, but not unkindly.
“Well…” Merlin feels his face heating up. “Okay, maybe it is as bad as it looks. But it’s also fine!” He takes the knight’s hand somewhat desperately, trying to get Leon to meet his eyes. “I’m fine, Leon.”
Leon doesn’t look convinced in the least, quite the contrary. He carefully examines the bruises, reaching his free hand to trace the edges of the barely healed scar amongst them. “This one pierced the skin.” His voice is no more than a whisper.
Merlin swallows dry. “To be fair, the thing with a mace was before I became his manservant.”
Leon finally looks up at Merlin’s face, his eyes wide with shock. “Prince Arthur hit you with a mace?”
“Just a little bit!” Merlin tries to backtrack, but there’s really no good way to spin this. “Look, it’s fine, all healed up.”
“What happened?” Sir Leon asks in a tone that would be better suited for the question Who do I need to hurt?
And so Merlin tells him everything, he’s helpless to do anything else. He starts with his second day in Camelot, when he saw some thugs bullying some poor lad, using him for target practice. And he ends with how he got roped into becoming the main thug’s manservant, much to both their chagrin.
Sir Leon seems at times awed and horrified by the story, but, at the end, his only question is “You held your own, with no training, against the Prince and First Knight of Camelot?”
Merlin smirks. “What, like it’s hard?”
Sir Leon laughs out right. “And then you turned around and saved his life.” He shakes his head in disbelief.
“I mean,” Merlin shrugs, “Arthur’s a prat, but that doesn’t mean he deserves to die .”
“You really are something else, Merlin.” Leon’s voice is almost reverent, unlike anything Merlin’s ever heard before. And his eyes are doing that thing again, the crinkled shining thing that has Merlin’s heart beating a little too fast.
Minutes or maybe hours pass before Merlin can remember what brought him here in the first place. He has to look away to collect himself before gesturing towards the salve in Leon’s hand. “Are you gonna…?”
Sir Leon clears his throat, also trying to recover. “Yes, of course.” He says after a moment, quickly getting to work.
The feeling of Leon’s hands rubbing the soothing salve onto Merlin’s shoulder is far too lovely and he finds himself fishing for a distraction before he can embarrass himself. “So, how does a nice guy like you end up in a place like this?” He settles on.
“I didn’t have much of a choice.” Sir Leon replies quietly.
Merlin finds that hard to believe. In order to become a knight, Sir Leon must have been of noble birth and that alone would afford him more opportunity than Merlin himself ever had. He expresses all of this with a pointed eye roll.
Leon blushes a delightful shade of pink at being called out. “I suppose I didn’t feel like I had any choice.” He corrects shily. “As the second son of a minor lord, the only options ever presented to me were either the knighthood or an advantageous marriage. Ideally both.”
“So who’s the lucky lady?” Merlin says cheerfully over the painful clenching of his heart. It was silly to think someone as beautiful and brave as Sir Leon would look twice at him anyway. Not that Merlin ever thought about that, of course.
“No one.” Leon gives him a tight smile, the conversation suddenly uncomfortable. “That’s why I chose knighthood. Married life is… not for me.”
Trying to defuse the tension, Merlin bumps their knees together and teases. “Afraid of commitment?”
Sir Leon snorts. “I have committed my entire life to the service of Camelot.” He points out.
“Something else, then?” Merlin asks innocently.
He has an inkling — or rather, a hope — of what something else could be. The idea that something as beautiful and mysterious as love should have to be stifled by the norms and conventions of marriage is laughable to Merlin. That a person should have to be limited to loving only one other or that the gender of their lover should have to be appropriate is ridiculous. And to have love weighted down by the duties of marriage!
Needless to say that married life is not for Merlin either.
But whether or not Sir Leon shares those sentiments remains unknown. “Don’t move yet.” The knight says as he pulls back after having finished applying the salve. “It needs to dry out for a moment before you can rest back onto the cushions.”
“I never knew my father.” Merlin hears himself say and instantly regrets it. It’s just all this talk of marriage and love gets to him and he sometimes forgets to filter what he says out loud.
Fortunately, Sir Leon doesn’t seem to mind the word-vomit. “He died when you were young?” He asks quietly.
“I don’t think so.” Merlin sighs. It seems they’re having this conversation now.
Leon frowns. “But you don’t know?”
“Mother never talks about it. They were never married or anything.” Merlin looks down at his hands. “I used to think he was a coward, you know? That he ran away when the responsibility got too much.”
There’s a long pause, as if Sir Leon is waiting for Merlin to go on, but when Merlin says nothing else he asks. “What made you change your mind?”
Merlin looks up at the knight’s face. It’s a bit of a long story, and Merlin knows it makes him sound foolish, but there’s nothing but compassion and maybe curiosity in Leon’s gaze. It makes it hard not to open up. “I found this.” He says at last, picking up his neckerchief and fiddling with it. “Well, it was a shirt at the time. Two shirts of his that my mother kept hidden away like keep-sakes. It got me thinking: if he were dead mother would want me to know about him and if he were a coward she wouldn’t have kept his shirts.”
“So what is he?” Comes the quiet question.
“I don’t know.” Merlin shrugs weakly. “But I don’t think he wanted to leave us. I think he was forced to. Maybe for our own sake.” He finally meets Leon’s eyes, begging him to understand, but the knight’s face shows something akin to pity. “You think I’m being childish.” Merlin pulls back.
“No!” Leon says at once, leaning forward to take Merlin’s hand. “Merlin…” He takes a deep breath, clearly thinking through what he wants to say next. “I can’t imagine what it’s like, not knowing.” He settles on. “You put it together the best you could with what little information you had.”
“It could just be wishful thinking.” Merlin points out, as he always reminds himself when the subject comes up. There’s no point in feeding false hope.
“Maybe.” Sir Leon squeezes his hand. “But it’s as likely as anything else and… I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m saying, I just think it’s natural for you to want to believe the best.”
Leon’s eyes shine with sincerity and something softer that Merlin can’t quite place. It’s almost too intense and Merlin has to look away before he drowns in those perfect blue eyes.
“I think that’s dry enough now.” Sir Leon says in a soft low voice and Merlin needs a long moment before he can figure out what that means.
His shoulder, he suddenly remembers. “Of course.” That’s why Sir Leon invited him here, not to wax poetic about pretty eyes.
Merlin hands the scarf over to Leon as he pulls his shirt and jacket back on. He reaches for the scarf last, but Sir Leon doesn’t hand it back. Instead, his voice is almost shaky as he asks “May I?”
All the air is sucked out of the room, but Merlin manages to nod his head. He holds completely still as Leon wraps the scarf around his neck and secures it with a knot at the front, his hands lingering perhaps a moment too long.
“It suits you.” Sir Leon murmurs when he finally manages to pull his hands back.
“You think so?” Merlin breathes out, maybe for the first time since Leon made his offer.
“Yes.” Leon nods assertively. “It’s… distinctive.” He looks up to meet Merlin’s eyes. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Merlin.”
The words send Merlin’s heart into a frenzy. Leon’s still looking at him with warm tender eyes and Merlin can’t resist the way his own gaze drops down to the knight’s lips, only just peeking out from behind the well-groomed beard.
He’s never kissed someone with a beard before (not that he has kissed a great many people, mind you). He wonders if it’d feel as soft as it looks. Although, even if it doesn’t, he wouldn’t mind a little beard burn if it meant he got to taste those lips.
With great effort, Merlin manages to tear his eyes away from the inviting curve of Sir Leon’s smile. Only to find that the man himself is in much a similar state, his eyes fixed on Merlin’s mouth. And when Merlin’s tongue (subconsciously) comes out to wet his suddenly desert dry lips, Leon’s breathing falters.
That’s all the invitation Merlin needs to lean in. It shouldn’t be, of course. Sir Leon is a knight of Camelot and taking such liberties could bring grievous consequences for Merlin should it not go well.
But he can’t quite help himself when Leon’s looking at him like that.
Plus, Sir Leon’s pressing forward too. Whatever this is, it’s mutual.
They’re both moving slowly, careful not to scare the moment away. Merlin can feel Leon’s breath on his cheek, they’re barely an inch apart, and he reaches up to touch that magnificent beard.
The next moment, Sir Leon has stood up and stepped away. “I should turn in.” He says stiltedly. “Big day tomorrow.”
Merlin is left with his hand floating mid-air and his mind fuzzy. “Of course.” He says after a long silence. “Day.” He repeats as he finally remembers to pull his hand back. “Big.” He stands up on unsteady legs. “Tomorrow.” Why is tomorrow a big day again? “The tournament!”
Sir Leon is standing a couple of steps away with a sorrowful look in his eyes, but he gives a charmed smile at Merlin’s babbling. “Wish me luck?”
“Good luck, Sir Knight.” Merlin bows mindlessly, still not sure what’s going on.
“Thank you, Merlin.” Leon’s reply sounds just as formal.
Merlin nods once before moving towards the door. He’s halfway there when his brain suddenly starts working again. “Wait!” He turns around. “You don’t need luck.” The words come out more accusing then he meant them to.
“Oh.” Sir Leon’s voice comes out small and dejected, his eyes now fixed on the ground.
Merlin feels like he’s just kicked a puppy. “I saw you this morning.” He explains quickly. “You could have beat Arthur. I know you could, he missed a step. You could have struck him square on the head. But you… didn’t.”
Leon doesn’t look up, but Merlin can see the way his face flushes bright red. “Oh.” He repeats weakly.
Merlin takes a step forward, propriety ignored once again. “Why would you do that?”
“He was too open,” Sir Leon mumbles, like the words are being dragged out of him, “there was no way for me to soften the blow.”
“Isn’t that the point?” Merlin cocks his head, both intrigued and endeared by the knight’s suddenly shy demeanor.
“With anyone else, yes.” Leon sighs, finally meeting Merlin’s eyes again. “But Arthur’s our Prince, Merlin, it wouldn’t do for him to get greatly injured in training.”
Oh, Merlin realizes bitterly, of course the prodigy Prince Arthur gets special treatment. “Shame.” He mutters under his breath.
Sir Leon holds Merlin’s gaze for a long time, his face almost apologetic. “Good night, Merlin.” He offers when it becomes clear Merlin won’t say anything else.
“Good night, Sir Leon.” Merlin manages a small smile before leaving Leon’s chambers.
Merlin quickly decides that Tournaments are stupid. A bunch of grown men hitting each other with play swords, if you ask him. And what for? Turns out they all know who the champion will be going in.
Still, he does wish he could see Sir Leon in action again, the memories of their first meeting still fresh in his mind. He’d like to see the knight swinging his sword like he’s dancing rather than fighting, every move as graceful as it is deadly.
But, of course, he can’t. Merlin must be by Prince Arthur’s side at all times. They start their days with so-called warmup by the woods before they launch into a never-ending cycle of helping Arthur out of his armour, polishing it, helping him into it again and watching Arthur beat up yet another faceless knight.
For the first two days of the tournament, all Merlin sees of Sir Leon are glimpses as they pass each other on the castle corridors. Once, Sir Leon smiles at him, but that clotpole Arthur is already calling Merlin away before he can as much as say ‘hello.’
Merlin doesn’t (can’t) forget that night in Sir Leon’s chambers, but he comes to the conclusion that nothing like that will ever happen again. Personally, he might not give a rat’s ass about titles and social etiquette, but Sir Leon’s not the type to do something as improper as getting cozy with a servant. He’s a knight through and through, the kind who lives and dies by the codes of chivalry.
Or so Merlin thinks.
The semi-final is about to start and Merlin is standing by the entrance to the arena with Arthur. When his name is called, the Prince takes his helmet from Merlin before clapping him on the shoulder and walking into the field. Merlin just barely manages not to flinch at the touch, but he fully manages to make himself look the other way before allowing any pain to show on his face.
Only, he hadn’t noticed the beautiful set of blue eyes looking right at him, eyebrows furrowed in concern. Before Sir Leon can say anything, however, his name is called as well and his face dissolves into a bland expression of concentration as he walks into the arena.
For the first time since the Tournament started, Merlin is actually interested in a duel.
Much like the last time, Arthur and Leon are well matched in every regard: in strength and technique, in agility and resourcefulness. Every blow meets its block and every evasion opens up to a new attack, like a well-practiced routine.
As the fight goes on for much longer than the other morning, though, Prince Arthur seems to get more and more vicious. Some might even say desperate. But no change can be spotted in Sir Leon, who keeps a level focused attitude throughout.
And so it comes as no surprise when Arthur puts a little too much power behind a lunge that Leon manages to side step, hitting Arthur’s back with the hilt of his sword and using the Prince’s own moment to push him to the ground.
“Yes!” Merlin hollers. He quickly realizes his mistake, though (one is not supposed to cheer against their prince). When people look over he makes sure to look around as well, as if to ask where did that noise come from?
It was nice of Sir Leon to provide him with the small joy of seeing Arthur fall on his face, even if he can’t ultimately win and the Prince’s already getting up again.
Except that no, he isn’t. He’s only halfway to his feet when Sir Leon hits him again. Arthur tries to block it, but the position doesn’t allow for enough leverage and his blade goes flying.
Leaving Leon standing with a sword to the Prince’s heart. Merlin can barely believe it.
“Do you surrender, Sire?” Sir Leon’s clear strong voice echoes through the stalls.
There’s a long moment of hesitation during which Merlin can hear the whole arena holding their breaths before Arthur begrudgingly nods.
The applause is tentative at best when Sir Leon is declared the match winner, but Merlin doesn’t care. He claps as loudly and enthusiastically as he can.
Unfortunately, Merlin has to quiet down and follow the Prince out of the field and into his tent. For once, he doesn’t try to soothe Arthur’s foul mood with jokes or chatter, instead making quick work of the armour before finding an excuse to leave.
He finds Leon in his own otherwise empty tent, his face scrunched in a (adorable) frown as he tries fruitlessly to remove the damaged vambrace from his forearm. Merlin watches him struggle for only a moment before quietly tying the flap closed and making his presence known.
“You didn’t let him win.” He says quietly.
Sir Leon’s head snaps up. He takes a moment to get over the surprise before his eyes wander down to Merlin’s injured shoulder and he replies. “I found myself exceptionally motivated to win this one.”
Merlin’s breath catches when Leon’s eyes find his again, his gaze intense but tender. He can feel his face warming up under the scrutiny. “Here,” Merlin says after a long moment, “let me help you with that.” He gestures towards the vambrace hanging precariously from Leon’s wrist as he steps closer.
“Shouldn’t you be with Arthur?” Sir Leon protests weakly, even as he extends his arm towards Merlin.
“It’s not like he’ll be putting his armour on again, is it?” Merlin teases as he carefully unties the tight knot.
Leon snorts softly. “Thank you, Merlin.” He says when the vambrace is finally pulled free.
“It’s not like he says that either.” Merlin mumbles almost to himself as he turns away to place the damaged component on the table and gather its spare counterpart.
Sir Leon doesn’t move, keeping his arm in perfect position for Merlin to work with. But his eyes follow Merlin around the tent, never losing their intensity. “Arthur’s a fool to overlook you.” He says simply, like it’s an incontestable fact.
“Careful there, Leon, I wouldn’t want you to be accused of treason.” Merlin steals a glance at Leon’s face, but the sweet smile he finds there is too much and he has to look back down at the new vambrace. “That’s the prince of Camelot who you’re calling a fool.”
“Then let us hope he’ll have grown out of his foolishness by the time he becomes king.”
Merlin chuckles. It’s evident that Leon doesn’t really mean it, the knight is not treasonous in the slightest, but the fact that he’s willing to commit even the smallest acts of rebellion in Merlin’s name means a lot.
Plus, he did drop Arthur on his ass at the match earlier.
Merlin finishes tying up the vambrace, but he can’t bring himself to step away from Leon just yet. Instead, he keeps busy by carefully checking every other piece of the armour for damage.
“I’m sorry.” Leon says softly. “For the other night.” He elaborates at Merlin’s confused look. “We were having a lovely time and I ruined it. I’ve regretted it ever since.”
“You did nothing wrong, Sir Leon.” Merlin manages a small smile, but he doesn’t dare look away from the slight dent on Leon’s breastplate. It’s not serious enough to warrant changing the whole thing.
“I did.” Leon takes his hand, making it impossible for Merlin not to look up at his earnest eyes. “I kicked you out when I wanted nothing more than for you to stay.”
Merlin momentarily forgets how to breathe. “I—” his voice comes out wobbly, so he has to clear his throat and try again. “I couldn’t help but notice, Sir Leon,” he says slowly, “that you don’t seem to carry a token for good luck.”
The corner of Leon’s mouth twitches up. “I was told I didn’t need any.” He doesn’t let go of Merlin’s hand.
“And what kind of an idiot would tell you something like that?” Merlin doesn’t hide his grin.
“A particularly charming one.” Leon responds with no hesitation.
It’s only with great effort that Merlin manages to pull his hand away from Leon’s, but he needs it to untie the knot on his neckerchief. “Will you accept my favour?” He asks as the cloth slips away from his neck.
Leon’s eyes go huge when he realizes what Merlin’s offering. “Merlin,” his voice is saturated with awe. “I couldn’t possibly—”
“I wish you to have it.” Merlin cut him off mid-sentence.
While it’s true that he’s only known Leon for a few days and their connection might ultimately not be as deep as it seems at first glance, he realizes it makes no difference. Leon has shown him more kindness than almost anyone else in Camelot at a time when Merlin needed it more than anything.
It doesn’t matter if they never see each other again, Merlin would still want the knight to carry a token of his appreciation.
Leon seems to come to the same conclusion, or maybe he can read it on Merlin’s face. “My victory shall be in your honour.” He vows as he holds his arm out again.
“You already won the only victory my honour cares about.” Merlin smiles as he wraps the neckerchief around Leon’s upper arm. “Win this one for yourself, Leon. Let yourself enjoy it.”
Once the favour is properly secured, Merlin steps back to admire his handiwork. Sir Leon somehow manages to look even more gallant with the modest fabric adorning his armour.
“I don’t suppose I can escort you to the feast tonight?” Leon’s voice breaks him out of his contemplation.
Merlin has to shake his head. “I already have a date with a jug of wine.” He manages a teasing smile at his own joke. “Someone needs to make sure his Royal Prattiness never suffers from a dry cup.”
“Of course.” Leon smiles back, but there’s a sad edge to it.
And Merlin thinks… Well, what’s the worst that could happen? “After the festivities are over, though…”
Leon’s face lights up at the offer. “Will you come to my chambers?”
“I know where they are.” Merlin can’t help but smile back. He takes Leon’s hand again, for no other reason than because he can.
Just then, the horn sounds, announcing that the final match is about to start.
“I must go.” Sir Leon says, but doesn’t let go of Merlin’s hand. After a moment, he raises it and presses a soft kiss to the knuckles, his eyes never leaving Merlin’s. “I look forward to seeing you again.”
“Good luck, Sir Knight.” Merlin manages to say, somewhat breathlessly.
Leon’s smiling when he lets go of Merlin’s hand. “Not that I need it, right?” He teases.
Merlin rolls his eyes. “I was trying to be polite.” He laughs as he walks to the entrance of the tent and holds the flap open. “Knock ‘em dead, Leon.” Merlin murmurs as the man walks past him.
At no point does he consider finding Arthur again. Instead, Merlin follows Leon back to the arena, eager to see the knight in action one more time.
“Congratulations!” Merlin throws himself into Leon’s arms the moment the knight opens the door to his chambers. It only occurs to him that this might be seen as improper after he feels strong arms wrapping around his waist, and by then it’s too late anyway.
“Thank you, Merlin.” Leon’s breath is warm on his neck. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“I didn’t do anything.” Merlin holds on for a moment longer before leans back. He does keep his hands on Leon’s wide shoulders, though, because he’s not made of stone and they’re very nice shoulders, especially without the barrier of armour or mail. Plus, Leon’s keeping his own hands steady on Merlin’s hips and turnabout is fair play.
“Just knowing you were watching was enough.” Leon smiles, but it quickly turns into a smirk. “And hearing your cheers when Arthur went down.”
Merlin chuckles. “I’ll pay for that tomorrow, you know.”
“I’m sorry.” Leon looks truly contrite, but he also seems to decide that the appropriate way to punctuate his words is to tighten his hold on Merlin’s hips.
Merlin finds himself falling forward, as if pulled by the gravitational force of Leon. “Don’t be.” He says softly. “It was worth it.”
So worth it, he adds internally, although even he’s not entirely sure exactly what was so appealing about it. Was it watching Arthur lose or watching Leon win? Was it Arthur’s scowl when he walked out of the field or Leon’s smile when Merlin found him in his tent?
Maybe it’s the way that Leon’s looking at him now.
“Well, then,” Leon murmurs, eyes sparkling with humour, “I’m glad to be of service.”
For a long moment, they hold each other’s gaze. Merlin barely even registers the slight upturn of Leon’s lips with his peripheral vision. Leon’s eyes are bright and kind and oh so beautiful, he can’t look away. Just like last time, he’s completely hypnotized.
Before Merlin can understand what’s happening, he’s kissing Leon. He had to, Leon’s far too lovely to go unkissed. Of its own accord, one of Merlin’s hands moves from Leon’s shoulders to cup his cheek and feel the soft hair of his beard, holding him in place.
Leon’s lips are dry, but soft as anything. And when he kisses back, the pressure is so gentle and undemanding, Merlin feels like he's floating.
It’s perfect. Leon’s perfect. His lips on Merlin’s lips are perfect and his hands on Merlin’s hips are perfect and his hot breath on Merlin’s cheek is perfect and when he pulls back Merlin thinks he might cry at the loss.
“Merlin.” Leon’s voice is barely above a whisper, but the tone is indisputably sorrowful.
Merlin doesn’t open his eyes. “What’s wrong?” If he can’t see the rejection on Leon’s face, surely it won’t hurt.
“I’m sorry, Merlin.” Leon hasn’t really moved away. Even after the kiss, his hands still hold on to Merlin. “I fear I might have given you the wrong impression.”
“I don’t understand.” Merlin finally opens his eyes to stare at Leon in disbelief.
Leon tries to smile, but it looks sad as it looks beautiful. “I think you’re wonderful.”
“I assure you the feeling is mutual.” Merlin responds quickly. Could Leon really believe that Merlin’s the one who doesn’t return his feelings?
“And I greatly enjoy your company.” Leon continues, undeterred by the interruption.
“That is exactly the impression you have given me.”
“No, that’s not—” Leon groans in exasperation. He closes his eyes for just one moment, as if to put his thoughts in order. “You don’t want me, trust me.”
Merlin gapes. “I beg to differ.” He splutters.
“I am wrong, Merlin.” Leon finally lets go of Merlin’s hips and steps back. “Defective.”
Merlin steps forward, but he drops his hands from Leon’s shoulders, giving him some space. “I don’t believe that for a second.”
“Nevertheless, it is the truth.” Leon nods assertively, but he only looks like he’s trying to convince himself. “I don’t—.” He sighs. “I don’t feel things the way other people do, Merlin.”
At that, Merlin has to step back as well. The kiss, that perfect kiss… “Did you not want to?” He asks in a small voice.
Leon starts. “What?”
“When I kissed you.” Merlin clarifies quietly, his voice heavy with regret. “I did not mean to… to force you.”
Leon looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “You didn’t.” He says at last. “ You are not the problem here, Merlin.”
Merlin blinks. If that wasn’t it, then what on earth is Leon going on about? “I don’t understand.” He mutters.
“It was a lovely kiss.” Leon takes his hand in a gesture of reassurance. “The best I’ve ever had, really. It’s just the thought of being intimate with you —” he catches himself before amending hurriedly “— with anyone! It—”
Leon trails off, but his meaning is slowly dawning on Merlin. “You don’t like that thought?” He asks for confirmation, trying to pair the words with an encouraging smile.
Anguish is clear in the way Leon squeezes his eyes closed, hiding away. He takes a deep breath before shaking his head ever so slightly.
Merlin squeezes Leon’s hand in support. “But you liked kissing me?”
Somehow, Leon retracts even further onto himself, but he still manages a tiny nod.
“Okay.” Merlin smiles, his core flooding with indescribable warmth. This shy version of the brave knight he’s come to expect might just be the most bewitching thing Merlin has ever seen.
Leon’s eyes snap open, wide and shocked. “What.”
“I said okay.” Merlin replies simply.
“You don’t understand it.” Leon steps back suddenly, snatching his hand from Merlin’s. “I don’t mean ‘not now,’ Merlin, I mean ‘not ever.’” He says seriously. “Not even a little bit. Not even… Not even your tongue in my mouth. Nothing.”
Merlin raises an eyebrow. That’s exactly what he thought Leon meant from the beginning. “Okay.” He repeats.
“Merlin!” Leon throws his arms out in exasperation.
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Leon.” Merlin shrugs. “I’m happy to be here. I need nothing else.”
Some tiny measure of tension slips from Leon’s shoulder. “How can you be so sure?” He asks in a small voice.
Merlin takes a moment to think about this.
On the one hand, he’s known for a long time that the kind of intimacy that makes Leon anxious doesn’t hold any particular appeal for him. Honestly, it’s a bit bewildering how those desires seem to hold power over some people.
On the other hand, how can he get Leon to believe that? Clearly, he doesn’t think such a thing is possible.
“I tried it once, you know,” Merlin settles on, keeping his voice as casual as he can, “ intimacy. Or something like it, I suppose. It was… sticky.”
“ Sticky? ” Leon splutters.
“It wasn’t bad.” Merlin clarifies. “It was fun enough, I guess. But it was messy and repetitious. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, is what I’m saying.”
Leon blinks. He opens his mouth to say something, but thinks better of it and closes it again. “I’m not sure I believe you.” He murmurs at long last.
“You’re one to talk!” Merlin huffs. “Why is it okay for you to say you don’t want it, but when I say I don’t care I’m lying?”
“Because you are not broken.” Leon replies instantly.
Merlin feels his heart break a little. He reaches out slowly, setting his hand on Leon’s shoulder. “Neither are you.” He says softly, thumb tracing small circles right above Leon’s collar.
“I—“ The words die on Leon’s lips. He looks from Merlin’s face to his hand where they’re touching, his face open and vulnerable and lost.
“Leon.” Merlin calls gently and waits for Leon to meet his eyes before smiling. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”
Leon surprises him by framing Merlin’s face with both hands, pulling him close and pressing a longing kiss to his lips. Merlin melts into it, allowing his arms to wrap around Leon’s shoulders again and pull their bodies close.
“The other night,” Leon murmurs when their lips part, “you said something about how comfortable the chair was.”
“Mhmm.” Merlin presses their foreheads together, a poor substitute for the kiss, in his opinion, but it’s what he can do if Leon insists on chatting.
“The bed is even better.” Leon whispers.
Merlin giggles. “Careful what you say, Sir Leon.” He teases. “Wouldn’t want me to get the wrong impression , now would you?”
Leon humphs. “I think I’ve made my intentions perfectly clear.” He mumbles.
Merlin kisses that adorable pout off his face. “I would love to try out your comfy bed.”
The bed is, in fact, extremely comfortable. Any other day, Merlin’s sure he would have fallen asleep the second his head met the soft pillow, but sleep is the furthest thing from his mind as Leon lies down in front of him, their faces inches apart.
A lock of Leon’s hair falls over his face and Merlin can’t resist reaching out to touch it under the pretense of pushing it back. “It’s soft.” He breathes out. “Just like I thought it would be.”
Leon closes his eyes again, but this time there’s no pain on his face this time, he looks like he’s trying to savour the moment. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“Me neither.” Merlin giggles, but doesn’t move his hand away.
Leon’s brows furrow sweetly. “But you said—“
“It was nothing like this.” Merlin smooths that frown away with his thumb. “There were no soft beds with brave beautiful knights who make my heart beat funny. Only two kids in a barn trying to figure out how our bodies worked.”
“Tell me about it?” Leon asks with a shy smile.
And Merlin does. He speaks of himself and Will and recounts a number of their misadventures.
In return, Leon tells him about the expectations set upon him growing up and escaping to knighthood training. About finding brotherhood amongst the knights.
Needless to say, they’re not going to sleep anytime soon.
When Merlin wakes up he instinctively knows that it’s just past dawn. He’d very much like to go back to sleep, but his body’s already getting used to the long hours of serving Prince Prat. He should get up.
Opening his eyes, Merlin’s faced with what might just be the most heavenly sight he’s ever laid eyes on. Leon’s face is slack, eyes serenely closed and open mouth drooling onto the pillow beneath.
It takes his breath away. In his barely-aware state, Merlin’d forgotten where he was. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, he only remembers talking and kissing and talking and kissing and talking and… waking up. Now he regrets succumbing to sleep, he and Leon have so little time together, it was a waste to spend so much of it unconscious.
Still, he can’t bring himself to wake Leon up, to interrupt his peaceful rest. He’ll just have to sneak out. Maybe he’ll leave a note.
Slipping out of bed is easy enough and Merlin sets out to look for some parchment and ink for a note. Instead, his eyes settle on the neckerchief he presented to Leon as a token and Merlin’s struck by an idea.
He looks over his shoulder to make sure that Leon hasn’t moved (from this angle, all he can see are the luscious golden locks). Taking the neckerchief in his hands, Merlin recites the now familiar enchantment under his breath.
“What are you doing?” Comes Leon’s sharp voice, not a trace of sleepiness to be found.
Merlin’s blood runs cold. Still, he turns around, keeping the scarf firmly behind his back. “Nothing.” He gives Leon his biggest grin.
“Merlin.” Leon chides.
“Leon.” Merlin mocks his serious tone.
“You were doing magic.” There’s no accusation on Leon’s face, just a statement of fact. It seems friendly enough, but Merlin has to remind himself that Sir Leon would be simply doing his duty if he arrested a sorcerer to be executed.
“What?” He forces out a dismissive laugh. “No. You are dreaming.”
“I woke up the moment you left the bed.”
“See, I don’t think you did.” Merlin lets his smile turn playful. “And I’m not surprised to see you talk in your sleep, you—“
“I’m not going to arrest you.” Leon tries, like anyone would ever fall for that.
“Of course not.” Merlin joyfully scoffs at the idea. “Can’t arrest me for something I did in a dream.”
Leon sighs in defeat. “Just tell me what you were doing.”
“Checking for holes. You know, this whole castle’s infested with moths. They get on every—”
“My best friend had magic.” Leon cuts him off mid-sentence.
Merlin comes up short. “What?”
“When I was a kid, before the Purge.” Leon explains quietly. “It was never much. She could make flowers, maybe butterflies.” He extends his arm towards Merlin and Merlin takes his hand, sitting down next to him on the bed. “One time, her mother gave her the most atrocious haircut and when I laughed at it she dropped an apple on my head.”
“What happened to her?” Merlin asks in a whisper, already dreading the answer.
“I mean, I was too young to know anything about anything.” Leon looks down at their joined hands. “All I knew was that one day I had the best friend a boy could wish for and the next I was all alone.”
Merlin intertwines their fingers together. “I’m sorry.”
Leon shakes his head. “I was maybe 6 by the time she disappeared and it was a lot for a kid to deal with, so I just… forgot. For a long time I thought I’d imagined her, that there was no way those memories were real. But then, a few years ago, there were rumours of a druid camp near the southern border where I’m posted. I was sent to scout the forest and there she was.” Finally, a small smile graces Leon’s lips and his eyes meet Merlin’s again. “She is real and she is good and when she saw I grew up to be a knight of Camelot she dropped an apple on my head.
“I went back to my commander and told him that the forest was clear.”
Merlin’s jaw drops. “How…?”
“My father got word of the Purge before the knights arrived to enforce it. He smuggled her family out and then made sure no one believed it when I talked about my magical best friend. Not even myself.”
Merlin lets go of Leon’s hand then, instead moving closer and pulling the other man into a hug. For a long moment, the silence breathes between them, allowing time for Leon’s story to sink in.
“What’s her name?” Merlin asks without pulling back from their embrace.
Leon takes a deep breath before sharing. “Caelia.”
“Caelia.” Merlin forms the sounds carefully, like they’re something delicate. “She sounds like someone really special.”
“She is.” Leon tightens his hold around Merlin one last time before letting go. “I still visit her sometimes. I do what I can to keep them safe but it’s… well, you know how it is.”
“Yeah.” Merlin manages a sad smile.
Leon smiles back before his eyebrows furrow again. “Merlin, what were you doing?” He looks down at the neckerchief still in Merlin’s hand.
“It’s a protection spell I’ve been perfecting for Arthur.” Merlin holds it out.
Leon’s eyes are wide when they snap up to meet Merlin’s. “ Arthur knows?”
“Gods, no.” Merlin doesn’t try to keep down his laughter at the thought.
Leon seems to relax ever so slightly as he nods. “Can you show me?” He takes the scarf gently from Merlin’s hands.
There’s a candle on the bedside table and it only takes one thought for Merlin to light it. When he looks back at Leon, the knight is staring at him in awe. Ignoring how that look makes his face warm, Merlin gestures towards the neckerchief and says “try to burn it.”
Leon still seems a bit dazed, but he does as he’s told. When the neckerchief doesn’t catch fire, he changes tactics, clutching the cloth tightly on one hand as he hovers the other over the fire.
“It doesn’t hurt.” Leon says in wonder. “Merlin, this is remarkable!”
“It’s not invincible.” Merlin warns. “It’ll protect you against a candle and help you against a torch, but don’t go setting yourself on fire.”
“It’s for me.” Leon whispers with reverence before taking his hand off the fire and focusing his attention on Merlin. “I’ll take good care of it.”
Merlin feels his heart speed up, but manages to keep his voice steady nonetheless. “And it won’t last forever.”
At that Leon smiles. “So what you’re saying is that I’ll have to come see you again.”
“Yes.” Merlin leans closer, his hand coming up to untangle Leon’s bed hair. “I’m afraid you have no choice in the matter.”
“I’ll be in Camelot for the next tournament.” Leon promises. “Maybe earlier, if I get my way. I don’t intend on staying on the borders forever.”
Merlin kisses him, a tender press of lips that tastes too much like goodbye. “Then I’ll see you when you return, Sir Leon.” He whispers as he pulls back.
“Can’t I convince you to stay a little longer?” Leon looks at him with big pleading eyes.
But Merlin can only shake his head. “I can almost hear Arthur yelling for me already.”
“There’s no one else like you, Merlin.” Leon’s hand finds its way to the back of Merlin’s neck, holding him in place. “Stay safe, okay?”
“You too.” Merlin kisses him one more time before standing up. “Goodbye, Leon.”
“Goodbye, Merlin. I’ll be looking forward to the next time we meet.”
Merlin makes it all the way to the door before getting hit by a thought that makes him turn back, march up to Leon, take the neckerchief and close his eyes to focus his magic once again.
“What’s that one for?” Leon asks curiously.
“It’s a connection to me.” Merlin explains, returning the scarf. “As long as you’re wearing this I’ll always know if you’re okay.”
“Then I shall always wear it.” Leon vows.
Merlin takes Leon’s head in his hands and holds him tenderly as he presses their lips together one last time, pouring all his affection into one kiss.
He doesn’t say ‘goodbye’ again and he doesn’t look back as he reaches the doors this time. But, as he leaves the room, he knows he’s leaving behind a piece of his heart. In the hands of a brave beautiful knight who’ll take good care of it.